


I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked

by AndrogynyZombie



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Avengers AU, Eventual Porn, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Character, Hermaphrodites, Jotunheim, Jotunn, Jotunn!Loki, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other, Porn, Prostitution, Sex Magic, Sex Work, Sexual Content, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:10:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrogynyZombie/pseuds/AndrogynyZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[THIS IS ON HIATUS; NO IDEA WHEN/IF I'LL GET BACK TO IT]</p><p>Space is a mysterious place, and by a turn of shit luck Loki lands in the place he did his damnedest to destroy.<br/>He doesn't have anywhere to go, no family to turn to or friends in Jotunheim and he's sure as hell not going back to Asgard now.<br/>Loki has nowhere to go now but down- and maybe going down is exactly what he wants.</p><p>[AU; taking place directly after the events of Thor and in lieu of Avengers. In which Loki turns to a whorehouse for shelter and makes friends with the idea of Sex Work. </p><p>I am running with the idea that the Jotunn are all hermaphroditic with a gamut of gender presentations, androgyny being the most common. I am also running with the idea that Loki, by means of his considerable magic, is the world's most fortunate genderqueer, boasting the ability to display whatever physical characteristics he wants.</p><p>Just a warning, if you don't like that sort of thing.</p><p>I will do my best to post specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jotunheim the Fair

**Author's Note:**

> The depressing exposition chapter? Oh ew.
> 
> Constructive criticism always welcome!

It should have only taken him a few moments to knit together his bones, crooked and smashed from his interminable fall from the shattered Bifrost, but Loki decided to lie there instead, reveling in the sharp pains stinging all over his body. He was only dimly aware of it, encased in pallid Asgardian skin, the freezing cold that stiffened his broken body in the snow-drift.

Jotunheim was ruined.

He knew this only because it was his own damned machinations that had wrought the destruction he saw, warping on all sides of him like a hellish fish-eye mirror. The crumbled ruins on either side of him slumped like corpses, and it occurred to him he had never had a point of comparison. Had the structures been palaces, courts, homes once?

He had never seen it at the height of its glory, didn’t have the slightest idea what “life” was like in this wasteland before he had happened to it.

Too late now.

Loki tapped a strange tattoo on the hard-packed snow beneath his chapped red fingers and winced as his ribs, ulna, and wrist bones slid slowly into place. The warm glow of magic suffused him with relief and tamped down pain-induced nausea.

Or was it the pain that made him need to vomit, really? His eyes blurred by the sensation of rent nerves knitting together and he watched smoke mingle with the snow-filled clouds to douse the weak light. He smirked to himself, teeth digging into his lower lip. He hadn’t even known Jotunheim was capable of receiving sunlight; he had only ever seen it at night, tossing about in the dark maelstrom of a blizzard.

He sat up stiffly, rolled his shoulders and looked about. Loki couldn’t see anything, neither roads nor buildings, not even the promise of a distant campfire. There was only the gentle, calm snowfall drifting to rest placidly in Loki’s mussed hair.

“What would I even do, if I found someone?” he said, frowning, “’Oh, greetings fellow monster! Fancy a new king? I’m afraid I’ve wasted your last one.’”

He couldn’t pretend that the idea hadn’t occurred to him. He was, after all, a proper Laufeyson- more son to the blue brute than he ever was to Odin.

Looking about at the eerie stillness, no longer an illusion of its quiet inhabitants but the genuine echo of a ghost-town, Loki felt his stomach lurch. Here and there on the ground he saw irregular lumps, like toppled snowmen mottled with blood.

“I’m a monster,” he said, voice flat, “more of a monster, even than them.”

He scrubbed at his eyes impatiently and spat onto the frozen ground, rising to his feet carefully.

“I don’t even deserve to rule this freezing limbo,” he snarled, kicking a chunk of ice.

“Are there any among us who do?” The croaking voice came from dangerously close to Loki and he spun around, mouth agape.

“Who’s there?”

A shambling Jotunn stood a few paces behind him, infernal red eyes regarding him with malicious amusement. He wore only a knotted loincloth, and boasted a healthy spattering of bruises and bleeding cuts.

“You’re looking mighty pale there, stranger,” the frost giant said with a sneer, “I’m willing to bet you’re not from around here. Fancy clothes you’ve got.”

The giant lumbered closer, exposing crooked bone-yellow teeth. Reaching forward, his meaty fist brushed a loose gold ornament dangling from Loki’s shirt and plucked it off. Loki took a defensive step back, trying to keep his chest from betraying his labored breaths.

“Who are you?” Loki demanded.

He took another step back as the Jotun advanced.

“Matter of fact,” the giant continued, eyeing the golden bauble, “you look an awful lot like one of them Asgardian princelings, with all those tarted-up jewels. One of them princelings stirred up a lot of trouble here. Maybe you’ve noticed.”

He gestured expansively around him and grinned, watching Loki flinch and kick up flurries of fresh snowfall in his backwards retreat. He was still buckling at the waist and cringing from the tingling pain of his magical restoration. His clothing, his diminutive stature, his pallid complexion seemed to have been a dead give-away. So soon after an obviously Asgardian cataclysm had claimed the Frost Giants’ lives and welfare, he had to stroll in, radiating “Asgard” from every wretched pore.

“Idiot,” he whispered to himself.

The Jotun lunged forward at the sound, grabbing him by the scraps of cape trailing from his shoulders.

“What’d you say,” he hissed, “you little nithing?”

Loki’s mouth worked silently, his eyes wide as he continued a staggering retreat. The giant’s eyes flicked wildly over his face before he tossed Loki lightly onto his back again. He squatted over him and scrabbled over his erstwhile finery; yanked off shining chains and loosened plates of armor in frenzied handfuls.

Loki kicked him in the stomach with a grunt and flipped himself over, stumbled to his feet and ran, desperate for the cover of some craggy overhang or a copse of scrub pines. He just needed somewhere to hide. He stared straight ahead and ignored the bright blue that had crept over the exposed skin of his arm the frost giant had touched, ignored the indignantly burning pain of his injured body, ignored the frigid sting of tears in the corners of his eyes.


	2. Boney King of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, despite his intelligence and unique talents, sucks at surviving.
> 
> The displaced Jotunn, on the other hand, have a bit of a knack for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Vomit; Suicide-y Thoughts

He couldn’t remember when it was that he had fallen, shaking as the cold wind began to gnaw at him, soaked in sweat and panting with exhaustion. Nothing around him was even remotely familiar; there were fewer cliffs and hills around, almost no destroyed buildings in sight. There was only a stretch of gray-white horizon and undisturbed, snowy flat-land before him. 

He had to forge onward, trembling and numb though he was, or else resign himself to the indignity of a wasted, petrified death underneath Jotunheim’s hateful snow. He was just so tired, and the sneering face of the Jotunn who had stripped his ornaments prowled threateningly at the edges of his memory. 

He breathed hard and stared fixedly at the spot of his arm that had turned blue after the Jotunn had launched himself at Loki; blue as the day he had fought with Thor, the same horrible blue that the Casket had granted him- the empty, painful blue of being disowned, the blue of a lifetime as a pitiful orphan in borrowed clothes.

Blue, his own unique shade of inferiority; a whole-body tint of shame. 

Considering the state of undress in which he had discovered the frost giant, it also could be the only way to survive.  
He stared at his hand and squeezed his eyes shut, intent on finding and “unraveling” the shimmering skin of Odin’s Aesir glamour in his mind. He scooped up fistfuls of snow and tried to let the sensation of cold creep its way through the shielding magic. He was rewarded by the slow spread of warmth through his limbs, and gradually he couldn’t feel the sting of the snow in his hands. His fingers and limbs felt more dexterous than they had since he’d first crashed into this snowy pit.

He opened his eyes and stared, biting his lip as disappointment and horror twisted his gut. His skin was a deep shade of cobalt and seemed thicker, having the texture of soft suede. At the very least, he wasn’t cold anymore- even in his tattered shirt and awkwardly hanging cloak, the buffeting winds no longer registered with him.

He stood and tottered forward a few steps, grateful to regain the feeling in his toes and flex out the cramping in his legs. His satisfaction was short lived though, as the desolate vista he wandered towards reminded him of just how alone he was again. He wouldn’t freeze to death, but if he was going to survive for longer than a few days he would still need water and food- and his best bet to find both were to track down some other Jotunn. 

Loki heaved a sigh, and began a slow trudge onward. Had he thrown himself from the Bifrost just so he could debase himself, assume the guise of these brutes; ingratiate himself to their deplorable company? Had he escaped death just to become something, by all accounts familiar to him, worse than dead?

He clamped his hands on his temples and shook with an impotent fury. He’d only walked a short way before a wave of nausea took him and he felt his gorge rise. His vision swam dangerously and he folded, falling to his knees and hugging himself desperately as a gout of bile spilled from his mouth. If he had been in better spirits, in his right mind perhaps, it would have occurred to him that half-starved, without water in sight, and freshly tumbled from a cosmic rift in space, the amount of magic he’d been tearing out of himself was a little more than “too much”. 

Instead, he took it as a cosmic sign of failure. Feeling hazy, he clenched his eyelids shut defiantly and imagined the look on his father’s, his brother’s faces if they could see him now- smeared in vomit, half-disrobed, and wrapped in the treacherous skin of an Aesir’s nightmares. A king of nowhere in particular. He lay on the ground, pillowed with fresh snow and, too exhausted to feel anything other than bitter contentment, let himself fade. 

The lethargic snowfall didn’t have enough time to cover him, only about an hour or two, before a lanky group of Jotunn found him, slumped over with a sluggish pulse and dead limbs. There were five of them, dressed in rags and carrying burnt and torn packages on their backs. One of them held a swaddled infant; they all possessed the hungry mien of refugees and castaways.

“Shame,” they clucked to each other, in hushed tones, “shame about this young one here.” 

Loki looked disproportionately tiny, crumpled and defeated as he was in his little pit. A smoothly muscled Jotunn flexed his bare shoulders experimentally, giving each of its companions a furtive look. 

“It’d be even more of a shame,” it said slowly, “if the poor bastard went and died for no reason, wouldn’t it?”

They nodded, simultaneously sly and desperate, and the frost giant holding the infant grimaced and turned away, as though the baby might understand. 

“…even dead yet?” it mumbled, petting the baby indulgently and taking a step back. 

The muscled one hung its head a moment and stooped, shaking the dusting of flakes off of Loki’s prone body before it heaved him to its shoulders, weightless as a felled bird. He hung from the giant’s back bonelessly.

One of the others snorted.

“Good as dead to me,” it said.

Faces shining with a remorseful, silent glee, the voracious travelers shouldered their individual burdens and set off again. Each of them had in their starved minds a warm campfire, popping merrily with dripping fat and roasting flesh.


End file.
